


Sterling Silver, Natural Pearl

by Nephytis (Atraea)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Family, Humor, Other, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atraea/pseuds/Nephytis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Adaar's father visits Skyhold, giving her a chance to learn more about her family, The Qun, what it means to leave it, and grow up outside of it. Will have multiple chapters, no set update schedule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> An idea inspired by the song of the same name, and something I'd been tossing around for awhile, I just hadn't had a chance to write it. Unlike the Qunari, those raised outside the Qun have traditional families. I know Adaar has "parents," but they've pretty vague on what the current status of the family is, so it gives me some wiggle room to explore some headcanons regarding the Tal-Vashoth, and what it means to grow up outside the Qun. This will probably have multiple chapters. I dunno how often it will update. Depends is I can get my ideas in order. Here's some Qunlat vocabulary (courtesy of the DA wiki:
> 
> Imekari: a child  
> Qalaba: A type of cow that the Qunari breed known for its stupidity.  
> Ashkost kata!: You are seeking death!  
> Arigena: One of the Triumvirate, the three pillars/leaders of the Qunari people, leader of the craftsmen (this is where I got her father's name, Arige).  
> Aadi: Daddy (This one I literally just made up, because the Qunari have no family structures, and by extension have no words for familial roles. But the Tal-Vashoth clearly have families, as the Inquisitor mentions them from time to time, so i figured they'd probably have a word for it. 
> 
> **I didn't createe this language, so I have NO idea if I'm using it correctly, or if the words I'm using have the correct connotations for what I'm trying to say, so if anything sounds weird, doesn't flow well, or just has some suggestions, I'm open!

“Erhm…Lady Adaar? There appears to be something of a…”

 

Josephine trailed off, staring at me expectantly, as if we were somehow on the same page and I knew why she had come nervously knocking on the door to my quarters so early. I’m sitting on the bed, naked, wrapped in the bed-sheets, and still not quite awake. I know it’s been a month since the fall of Corypheus, but given how many times I've risked my neck for this whole bloody thing, you’d think I’d get to sleep in every now and then.

But you would think wrongly. While not nearly the life and death matters that plagued me with regularity before, now there are merely high-stress inconveniences to address. Which is fine. I’ll address them. I’ll address them all damn day long. I’d just rather address them after I've been up and dressed, not naked at the arse-crack of dawn.

Lady Montilyet, her Maker bless her, is still standing there waiting for me to finish her thought, hiding her view of my nakedness behind her ever-present board, candle ever-burning. I idly wonder is she’s ever set herself aflame with that thing. “*sigh*…something of a…?” I find myself nodding my head in a circle, as if to goad her into finishing. Which almost works, as she opens her moth to answer but is cut-off by a familiar bellowing from the courtyard.

 

 

“ASHKOST KATA TAL-VASHOTH!!!”

 

 

“Something of a… _delicate_ situation in the courtyard. I know it is early, and I would have Cullen do it but he is-”

 

I cut her off rising from the bed with intent of going to the closet. “Ugghhhh escorting Cassandra to Val-Royeaux for her Coronation, I KNOW. Fine I’ll deal with it. Just let me find something to put on that isn't these sheets.” I hear Josephine audibly squeak and shuffle quickly out of the room in a bluster of thank-yous and apologies.

 

I chuckle to myself. “Heh, that got her out. Now then…” My eyes search the room for last night’s clothes which are…

“…Wait. Where _are_ they?”

Not in the wardrobe (which appears to be suspiciously devoid of ALL of my clothes, another mess to look into), not under the bed, laying on the fainting couch, nor hanging from the railing on the balcony. I’ve been blasted a few times in my day, but never such that I misplaced my ENTIRE wardrobe.

Attempting to backtrack through the night before, i find my memory well enough. Vivienne and Josephine insisted on throwing a congratulatory celebration for our newly Divine Cassandra before she left for Val-Royeaux. Then after all of the stuffy dignitaries left, we threw “a REAL party” at Bull’s insistence. After that there was Wicked Grace and drinking, which devolved into just...drinking, which further devolved into Iron Bull and Dorian proclaiming their affections in a public and sloppy fashion, which gave Sera more than a few ideas, and that's when she led me upstairs to… _wait._

 _Sera. Well, shit._

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sera took all my bloody clothes. How in the blighted hell am I supposed to--” My thoughts are interrupted by even more bellowing from outside. "*Sigh* I’ll have to deal with her later.” I fashion a makeshift toga out of my sheets and rush down stairs to the main hall, trying my damnedest not to trip, only to find it eerily empty. I am relieved of course, but at the same time, it’s not _that_ early, and even so there are usually guards and cooks bustling about, setting tables for breakfast. What gives? I walk down the aisle between empty dining tables with chairs and plates set. The food hasn't been served yet, but even still, there are usually people here. Bull is anyway.

In the midst of my thoughts I spy Varric standing jsut outside the threshold of the main hall door, which is wide open, explaining the draft. I shiver and clutch the sheets tighter around me before shuffling up next to him. Varric takes his eyes off the commotion long enough to acknowledge my presence before doing a double –take.

 

“Not a word Varric. What’s going on out here?”

 

Varric bears that smug shit-eating grin of his before turning his attentions back to the matter at hand. “Fair enough. As for what’s going on,” he points a bemused thumb at the crowd which has gathered down near the gates. “Bull and Dorian got into a spat after you and Sera went to bed. And true to form, Bull’s taking his loss out on strangers. Namely the group of Tal-Vashoth traders that Bonny arranged to drop by Skyhold for some goods.”

“Well that explains why the hall is empty. Who exactly is he getting into it with?” Strange that the Tal-Vashoth would come to Skyhold for something as mundane as trading, even with Bonny’s intervention. But then it wouldn't be the first time. Many fringe groups have come from all over in the wake of the newly-closed Breach to get a look at the Inquisition up close, and more often than not, under the guise of traders. I blink for a second and snap out of my thoughts, before giving Varric a stink-eye. “So wait…why aren't you _stopping him_?”

He merely shrugs and feigns innocence, a thing which for all of his talents in obfuscation is something he does incredibly poorly. “Hey, who wouldn't want a little morning show? You gotta admit, with Corypheus defeated and Cassandra committing to a lifetime of getting her ass kissed by the faithful masses that things have been kinda dull around here.” I lean in, hovering over him, my glare unchanged. “Oh RELAX Inquisitor, he’s just hung-over and all bluster. He hasn't hurt anybody.”

Not three seconds after the word “anybody” left his mouth, the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek echoes across the Courtyard. Both Varric and my eyes leave each other for a moment to the scene below. He clears his throat. “Ahem…yet.”

“For the love of—it is too early, I’m wearing too little, and I’m all READY putting up with too much,” I readjust my sheet-wrap and stomp down the stairs toward the gates.

“Atta girl Inquisitor!” Varric yells after me. Smug dwarf arsehole.

 

 As I approach, I hear Bull’s familiar shouting, as well as another deep, far more composed voice…one that’s…unmistakable. That I haven’t heard in…

 ---------------------------------------------

Iron Bull’s knuckles are bruised but not broken. “HOW **DARE** YOU, YOU FUCKING COME IN HERE, UNINVITED, TO PEDDLE YER BULLSHIT GOODS, LIKE THE INQUISITION DOESN'T HAVE ENOUGH KISS-ASSES MARCHING IN HERE!”

The other qunari stood tall; tall for a qunari even, and a mite stout, rounded off at the edges. He had four horns, two on each side, and longer than most, curling down around his ears. His white hair was long, and pulled into a braid down to his mid back. He wore a craftsman’s belt around his dusty trousers, boots, and like most qunari, lacked a shirt of any kind, and opted instead for deep green Vitaar painted in circular patterns across his chest and belly. He was also now sporting a growing bruise across his cheek.  “My group was _invited_ by the Inquisition you insipid _qalaba_. _”_

“ _Q-QALABA_? YOU **DARE**  CALL **ME** A…OH FUCK YOU, **THAT** IS **FUCKING IT!!** ” Bull swung and landed a blow on the other cheek. When the other qunari didn't budge, Bull hissed through gritted teeth. “Arrrrrrgh, come _on,_ fight back you…!”

The other qunari head whipped to the side as the other side of his face met Bulls fist, but he otherwise stood strong. He spit some blood into the dirt and slowly turned back Bull. “Tch. Where’s your herder, _qa-la-ba_?”

\--------------------------------------------- 

I’m pushing through the crowd, who thankfully seem more interested in the unfolding confrontation than their mostly-naked leader shoving past them. I finally make it through to the edge of the circle that’s formed around the two. “Bull! Bull STOP!” If my voice doesn't get his attention I know my appearance certainly would.

“Boss, great timing, I—ohhhhhhhh.” His demeanor changed from clumsy aggression to rugged swagger in under a minute flat. “Well. This is ah. Uhm,” he leans in close to my face, apparently ignoring my obvious irritation. “Hey, look if the whole ‘in public’ thing is something you and Sera are into, you coulda just asked, yanno? You didn’t have to…” I cup his face, smirking, as he trails off; his entire frame is coated in ice, causing him to literally freeze up. I make a mental note to thank Vivienne for teaching me that trick.

“ _I’ll deal with you later_ ,” I hiss in his ear, and step past him picking up my bed sheet skirt to approach the other qunari. I hear Varric’s call of “all right, show’s over,” from the top of the stairs for the crowd to disperse. Those gathered make their way back to various posts, and I face the visitor and his group. He smiles wide, despite the slight swelling, and embraces me warmly, kissing my forehead.

 

“ _’Inquisitor_ ’Adaar. _Imekari._ ” His large hands brace my shoulders, giving me a once over, his smile falling a bit in disapproval. “…You are nude.”

 

“Yes, _Aadi_ I am, and _you_ are early. Really early.” I look up at my father, his eyes steely and clear. My father, a walking fortress physically, but otherwise nug-soft. My _Aadi_. “I didn't think you would be coming with the traders, you said in your last letter that you were going to have to put this trip off.”

 

He chuckles, looking back at the group behind him, all of whom are standing board still with all of their goods in tow. “Yes well, this lot dropped by on the way out and told me where they were headed. How could I miss the chance, hm?”

 

“… _imeka_ —ohhhhh.” I turn around upon hearing Bull's muttering, still frozen in his “smarmy arsehole” pose, but enough movement in his expression to look a bit sheepish. He points the one finger capable of moving to my father. “Yer old man I take it?” I nodded. “Aw…shit. I fucked that up pretty bad, huh Boss?”

 

“Yes Bull. Yes you did.”


	2. Someone's Smallclothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude chapter before moving on with the story proper.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Josephine making her way down the stairs, still hiding behind her candle-board. I entertain that earlier thought about her candle before waving her over. “Josephine! Josephine, you can come out now, its _safe_!”

Josephine groans behind her board, and then clears her throat while trying to maintain her increasingly-delicate shell of civility. “Oh, HA HA. Forgive me for trying to--Lady Adaar, WHY are you STILL not dressed, were Vivienne not accompanying her Most Holy to Val Royeaux she’d be beside herself! I can only suspect this is Sera’s influence.”

I cross my arms across my chest, losing the grip on the sheets momentarily only to have my father catch them on queue to adjust them for me. “Thank you Aadi _._ And yes Josephine I’m sure she would be, but as you said, she’s not here and you leave Sera out of this. Now then,” I turn to look up at my father, who stands about a half-head taller than I, so he towers nearly 2 feet over poor Josephine. “This is my father, Arige Adaar. Behind him are the Tal-Vashoth merchants Lady Bonny Sims invited to do some business. Aadi, this is Lady Josephine Montilyet, former ambassador of Antiva to the Orleasian court, and current ambassador of the Inquisition to…everyone else, I guess. If there’s anything you and the guys need let me know, so I can let _her_ know.”

Josephine beams with pride at my introduction, and then courtesies before my father. “It is an honor Ser Adaar. The immeasurable effort your daughter has put into this Inquisition, her victories over the trials that plagued these lands and her influence in not just Orlais and Ferelden, but all of Thedas cannot be understated. You should be immensely proud.”

My father bows lightly in kind. “Thank you Lady Montilyet, not only for your praise, but for arranging for us to come to Skyhold, and the chance to finally see my daughter.” Josephine smiles wide and gives me an “awww he loves you” face, before motioning us toward the castle. She addresses the group behind us momentarily to give them directions to Bonny’s stall, and they begin tromping over there. They are _Tal_ -Vashoth, formerly under the Qun. And if I had to guess, probably soldiers at one point. Their faces are grim and silent, even holding something as run-of-the-mill as food, tools, and various trade goods. They still have a march in their steps, and their movements still coordinated as such. Some things never leave you I guess. This was Aadi’s group of craftsmen and merchants; they all left the Qun at the same time, if I remember correctly. They make furniture, textiles… Aadi’s an artist who makes home interior pieces, small sculptures, paintings and such. There’s a smith among them somewhere who has some weapons. Hopefully I can get him to sell Harritt some schematics before he leaves.  

 

After getting a certain distance from the gates, I hear Bull. “Wait, so, are you just going to leave me here or…?”

 

I turn around, smirking. “Ohhhh riiiiiight. One moment. Josephine, can you show Ser Adaar to Main Hall and have him seated for breakfast? Next to mine please. I’ll be there shortly.”

Josephine looks me up and down, referencing my still-naked body under the sheets. “Erhm…Lady Adaar, do you not want to at least get back to your quarters to get dressed?” I point toward Sera’s window in the Tavern. “…Ah. I see. Well then, Ser Adaar, if you’ll follow me please? It Lady Adaar needs to take care of some business before joining us.”

“Thank you Josie!” I turn back to Bull, folding my arms, and mustering as much displeasure in my expression as I possibly could. “You punched my father. _Twice_.” I put my hands on my hips. “What the _fuck_ , Bull?”

“I-I thought he was…that he…well they just marched up to Skyhold, and the watch got nervous because they weren't told someone was coming, and I just happened to be out here already so—"

 

“HE PASSED OUT IN FRONT OF THE BAR INQUISITOR!”

 

I look to the source of the outburst to see Krem, along with the rest of the Chargers, walking toward us and carrying what appear to be ice picks.

“Oh look Bull, someone you haven’t pissed off yet! How lucky for you. I was actually going to tell Dorian to come melt that ice for you.” Bull audibly gulps.

I readjust my sheet-toga and head toward the tavern, passing the Chargers on their way to Bull. I tug at Krem’s elbow, leaning into his ear. “Let him stew in it a bit before you chip him out. Give him a hard time.” Krem chuckles.

 

“Don’t worry Inquisitor, we plan to,” I watch as he struts toward the rest of the Chargers, already surrounding Bull and making their jabs at him. “Okay Chief, what’d ya do? 

“Yeah Chief, what’d you and Dorian do that got ‘im so lit up, he won’t even tell me anything!”

“Come onnnn, Chief spill it. You got too handsy with ‘him right? That’s always it, it’s how he pisses off almost all his ‘conquests.’”

“ _Do not_ call him that. And none of yer damn business you bastards, now lemme out.”

“Awwww come onnn Chief? You pass out, wake up hung-over, make a scene that gets you frozen solid in the middle of the courtyard and you won’t even tell us what you did?”

 

“Heh. I’ll have to ask how that goes later,” I glance up at Sera’s window, which she happens to be standing in front of, doing her fidgety little dance, thinking no one can see her. Goofy little thing. With her cute little laugh, her wide eyes, full lips, and…

While I’ve wandered off in my thoughts, Sera catches me staring, grins, and reaches for something out of my view. She then pulls a pair of my smallclothes into view, dangling them out of the window. “’EY BULL! Look what got thatchu donnnn’t!”

 

“No it wasn't _that_ , he just get so damn--HA HA! NIIIICE ONE SERA!”

 

*Sigh.*I better get up there before she thinks of anything else to do with them.


	3. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arige chats with one of the Inquisitor's inner circle while waiting for breakfast.

Arige sat awkwardly in the seat second to the head of the dining table. The seat was predictably small for him, as it is in most human establishments. It was of little concern, but strange given that the leader of the Inquisition is larger than most despite being female and…well you’d think they’d make some type of accommodations for visiting family members. But again, it was of little concern.

It had been about an hour since he arrived, and people other than dignitaries were already beginning to trickle into the main hall. A separate table was set up for the rest of the Tal-Vashoth merchants up near the throne, but they had yet to come in from their meeting so Arige was still alone for now. He was getting stiff in the chair, and breakfast was nowhere in sight, so took the opportunity to get up and move around the hall a bit. No one had gone out of their way to speak to him, just the occasional "pardon me," and startled" oh...!" as he was bumped into, seemingly mistaken for a pillar. But word had got around regarding who exactly he was. More than once Arige caught visiting dignitaries and aristocrats looking down their noses at him despite his obvious height, whispering behind their masks and fans, their small eyes glancing in his direction, only to have them flash toothy smiles and nod gracefully at him when he looked their way. 

“Ah yes, prejudice is yet alive in well, even in the wake of our narrowly missed destruction.” Arige turned to look down at the voice coming from behind, seemingly addressing him. Leaning on the chair he just rose from was a sharply dressed man, one bare shoulder, beauty mark on one cheek, the sides of his head shaved down. He also had a supremely dashing mustache. Arige regarded the man carefully at first, giving a small smile.

“It is what it is I suppose. One day at a time.” He studied the man’s hair more closely as he approached, goblet of wine in hand. Arige hiked an eyebrow. “A little early to be drinking…?”

“Ahaha! Never too early.” The man looked him up and down and took another sip of his drink, a smile playing on his lips. “So you’re with that group of Tal-Vashoth that Bull humiliated himself in front of this morning?” Arige nodded, his eyes firmly fixated on the top of the man’s head now that the gap between them was closed and his head was right below him. How did this man get such a sharp haircut? What razor is so exacting to shave it down just so like that? No one up north had hair like that, not in the Free Marches. The other man took another sip of his drink, noting that the Tal-Vashoth’s attention was just above his head. “Ahem…Dorian Pavus, of Tevinter.” Dorian reached out for a hand shake.

“…Tevinter! That explains the really nice haircut,” exclaimed Arige, completely oblivious to Dorian’s outstretched hand. When Dorian’s face seems writ with mild surprise, Arige backtracked a little, and returned the handshake awkwardly. “Oh..! I apologize; hair is something of a hobby of mine.” Dorian blinked. “…Hairstyles I mean.”

“Oh! That’s…well firstly I am quite dashing yes thank you, and secondly that’s…an interesting hobby? I don’t mean that facetiously, I’m sorry if it comes off that way, I've just…”

“Never met a Qunari that would be remotely interested in something as banal as hair?”

Dorian chuckled warmly. “Yes! That exactly. How does one Qunari come into that hobby?” Dorian set his goblet down on the table to give Arige his full attention. 

“Well to start, by being a terribly disinterested soldier.” They both chuckled. “Ah, it’s actually just something that always fascinated me. With the Qun being so singular in regards to matters like that, it was amazing to see how the rest of Thedas has so much choice in something so superfluous. I mean, we had different hair or horn ‘styles’ I suppose, but that was based entirely upon where you were put.”

Dorian nodded, his eyebrows piqued in interest. “That is...incredibly fascinating, actually! So, braids, buzzed, bald, and ragged mop is basically all you have then?"

\------------------------------

“…How long you think they intend to go on like that?” Varric glanced at Iron Bull, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table from Dorian and Arige, who were now chatting away like old friends. Iron Bull’s grimace was focused on Arige, his fist tightening around the handle of his mug. “Uh…Tiny?”

“First my pride, then my seat, now my mage, what else?!” He slammed his fist on the table, the sound of clinking silverware echoing through the hall, causing a momentary lull in everyone’s conversations.

“Uh…Tiny?”

“What, Varric.”

“You’re doing it again.”

Bull furrowed his brow in confusion at the dwarf before giving an exasperated sigh. “Right right. It’s just so fucking...!”

Varric put a hand to his mouth, trying to hide his snickering. “I know Tiny, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially wanted to move on a bit with the story, but I realized Arige needed a little fleshing out first.


	4. Clothed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Adaar finally gets dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone want headcanons about Qunari hair/horns? No, just me? Alos someone asked for more Sera. More Sera int eh next chapter for sure.
> 
> Imekari - child  
> Basra - Literally, "thing." Foreign to the Qun. Implication of being purposeless. (I used Basra's Balls because I wasn't sure if the Qunari had a 'Maker's Breath' equivalent. Also it's alliterative. I dig it.)

“Uh…Tiny?”

 

“ _What_ , Varric.”

 

“You’re doing it again.”

 

Bull furrowed his brow in confusion at the dwarf before giving an exasperated sigh. “Right right. It’s just so frustrating!”

 

Varric put a hand to his mouth, trying to hide his snickering. “I know Tiny, I know.”

\--------------------------------------

“What do you know, Varric?” Bull and Varric both whip their heads around to see me standing there, still clad in sheets but with my clothes now in tow.

 

“Oh, you know,” Varric cocks his head toward Dorian and my father, locked in animated conversation. “Same ol’, same ol’.”

 

“Awwww, did Dori cast you aside like an old glove?” I mockingly rub Bull’s horn, which he ticks up enough to catch me by surprise and give me a minor scratch. “Hey-! OW!” I gingerly nurse the red welt on forearm, glaring at Bull, who is sporting the first smile I've seen on him all morning. There’s that at least. I playfully nudge the offending horn before gathering up my sheets and make my way toward Dorian and Aadi. “I better not be bleeding by the way.”

 

As I get closer to the two, I begin to pick up what exactly it is their talking about: hair. Namely, the compare and contrast of Qunari heads to the rest of Thedas, to which Dorian seems genuinely interested in, having set down his drink and giving my father rapt attention. I slow my stride and adjust my path a little bit, attempting to veer around them … only to be jerked back by someone taller than me grabbing my left horn. “Yipe!”

 

“See here for instance,” Aadi drags me up next to him, apparently deaf to my cries of ‘Ow, ow, uhm, ow, yep, STILL OW,’ pointing at the various aspects of my head. “Here at the root of the horn, you can see where she…clearly has not been taking care of it, _basra’s balls_ , have you not touched it since you left home? Look at this…it's in-grown and splitting right here…”

 

“Well shit, between helping start the Inquisition, stopping TWO wars and saving Thedas from itself, you know, I kind of haven’t had time to—OW, AADI STOPPIT!” He yanks a small sliver of horn from the root, causing me to clasp at my head. “First my arm, now my head, I just wanna get DRESSED!”

By this point my father has clearly tuned me out as he and Dorian are examining the sliver in his hand. He glances at me briefly before turning his attention back to the sliver. “Then get dressed imekari, no one is stopping you. Look Ser Dorian, pick that up, feel it; see how stiff and brittle that is? It shouldn’t be like that, there should be a smoothness to it, some bend in it. It’s also not supposed to split at the root and break off like that, are you stressed imekari?” My father now sports an expression of concern as he watches me stomp over to my quarters. “This is so sharp, and there are a bunch of little ones jutting through your skin around the top there, does your head not hurt?”

 

I open the door, and look toward Aadi and Dorian, who is rolling it around in his hand with his finger. “Yes, _Aadi_ , I am stressed for the aforementioned reasons, and no, only when you _break pieces of it off,_ ” I seethe, before slamming the door.

 

“*Sigh* Clothes…I just wanna be clothed.”

\-----------------------------------------

Ten minutes later I’m clothed in my normal Inquisitor get up, my mood has improved considerably and headed down the stairs. I open the door to see Dorian and father are still talking, albeit the tone of their conversation has...changed. It’s more hushed, and they’re standing a bit closer, they smile differently. It isn't until Dorian slides his hand acorss my father's bicep that I realize...

 

_Oh no._

 

I put on my best pout, and strut over to the two of them, knocking into Dorian and nudging him aside. “ _Aadi_ , know what? You’re right, I _am_ stressed, and I haven’t been taking care of my horns, and I remember when I got the plating on them you said I could have them as long as I took care of them, but I haven’t, and I’m _sorry_ , and if you brought your tools I was _hoping_ you could—“

 

And just like that, my father’s face lights up. I haven’t let my father anywhere _near_ my head since I got my horns gilded, and I was pre-pubescent when that happened. “Of course, imekari, _of course_! We’ll do it right after breakfast.”

 

Out of the corner of my eye I see Dorian shooting me a nasty look, like flames might burst forth from his eyes. I show my father back to his seat as they begin to serve breakfast and approach Dorian. “Look, I know you’re mad at Bull right now, and you’re just trying to…I don’t know, make him jealous, whatever. Know that firstly, it worked, he’s jealous, I checked. Secondly,” I lean into his ear and whisper so as not to embarrass him. When I pull away his eyes are wide. He looks at the ground, nodding slowly, as if I had bestowed upon him a profound understanding, and he begins backing away, occasionally pointing at me and nodding faster. He then turns and saunters up to Bull, who initially pretends not to notice him, before practically melting in his chair as Dorian coos in his ear about…something.

 

“Whew…” I run my hand through the little tuft of hair on my head, my fingers grazing the roots of my horns Aadi was talking about earlier. I wince a little, as it turns out they are  _kind of_ tender, now that I touch them. That, and the area around the root of the horn feels kind of puffy, and a little prickly, like it might be swollen from all of the brittle bone growing out of the surface. Bull mentioned an anti-itch cream he used for his horns, I wonder if they have one for just general moisture...

 

“Shite, did Dorian just almost try to become your da?” Shaken from my thoughts, I look down at the skinny arms wrapped around my waist. “I dunno if he’d be a terrible da or the greatest da ever? Right, on one hand, he’s magic, that’s fine for you yeah? But he put himself before anyone else, right? What ifn’ you get hungry, and you starve because you can’t pull ‘im from a mirror?”

 

I shrug. “I…don’t think he would be that bad. If anything he’d probably be a better father if only to spite his own family.” I lock my hands in hers, running my thumb over her cold bony fingers. “You’re always so cold, Sera.”

 

Her turn to shrug. “Mm. Yeh. 'S cold out.” I feel her face bury into my back, nuzzling it for a few seconds before she blows a raspberry into it, laughing. “Come on, I wanna meet the one you get that gorgeous height from, yeah?”


	5. Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know the cliche where parents meet the significant other and show them baby pictures, it's like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever getting up and I'm sorry. Work, and crap and doctor's appointments got in the way. Lots of Sera in this one, part of the reason it look so long getting up. Her dialogue is difficult to capture.

I walk over to where my father is sitting, dragging Sera with me, her arms still wrapped around my waist, feet stumbling along. Aadi gives me a strange look before noticing the lanky limbs, wrapped where a belt normally would be. “Ahem…Uhm. Aadi?” His eyes remain fixated on Sera’s hands, which are now toying with the buttons on my blouse. “This is Sera. The one I told you about,” I say, swatting at Sera’s hands for trying to undo my buttons as I’m talking. “She’s very playful...” I swat again. “…As I’m sure you can tell.”

My father nods slowly, a smirk on his face. “I can.” He stands, extending a large hand to pinch Sera’s skinny wrists away from my clothes, and gently tugs her from behind me. Sera pouts at me before her eyes widen to the size of saucers at my father’s size. He smiles warmly, shaking her hand. “How do you do Lady Sera?”

“I…I do all right? Uhm.” Sera looks between me, my father, and me again. She appears to look a bit claustrophobic at this point.

My father chuckles letting go of her hand, and sitting back down, to Sera’s relief. “My daughter has written fondly of you in her letters to me. It’s nice to finally meet the one who’s made her so happy. Please, sit.” He motions to the seat across from him, which is next to mine at the head of the table. She obliges, in an uncharacteristically timid fashion.

I sit as well, and everyone in the room audibly breathes a sigh, with Bull audibly saying “Fucking FINALLY,” as everyone can eat now that I’m sitting down. I've told Josephine how absurd a rule that is, but she insists that we maintain some sort of decorum and custom “befitting of my new stature.” The kitchen staff begins to bring out the dishes. Salted fish, warm buttered bread, those little eggy tarts Sera likes so much, fresh fruits, those little phallic meat links, and the like. They've doubled up on the fish since the Tal-Vashoth are in. I guess they figured since it’s my favorite that the other Vashoth must like it too. I start loading my plate with food and begin eating, so that Sera can’t get out of conversing with my father.

“So, Lady Sera—“

“Just Sera. Uh, Please. Thanks. Uhm. Ser…?”

“Arige. And just ‘Arige’ is fine as well.”

“Oh, uhm, right. Ahem, y-yes? You were askin’…?”

“Aha, yes…so, where are you from?”

I see Sera’s ears twitch. If it’s one thing she can’t stand, it’s talking about herself. I know part of it is rooted in the fact that she’s an elf, and that’s typically the first thing people notice and want to ask her about. Humans in general are tone-deaf in regards to other races, especially about our appearances. But it’s not always rooted in malice; just ignorance. They know so little of us outside of what folk tales and the Chantry tells them about us. So if they happen across us and notice pointed ears, shallow nose-bridges, curled horns and grey skin, or just have to look down a ways to address us, they assume they already half-know us. The tactless questions are just their way of filling in the blanks.

That’s how I've always seen it anyway. But Sera’s not one to give anyone the benefit of the doubt; she’s had to deal with more condescension than I, and answered too many stupid questions. I glance at her for a brief moment, before lowering my eyes back to the plate and taking another bite of my fish.

She tenses, and squeezes her eyes shut briefly before opening her mouth. “…Ferelden. In Denerim.”

I froze for a moment. A straight answer? From Sera? I keep eating, so as not to make my shock obvious.

“Denerim, eh? That’s a large city. I've only been a couple of times on business. Some of the merchants there buy some of our crafts.” Aadi takes a bite of his food and notices Sera’s stiffness, picking up on the fact that he touched a nerve. “My daughter tells me you’re pretty good with a bow. Did you serve with any companies?”

Sera exhales, her posture softening. “Nah, no companies. Too many rules. I prefer a flow, yeah? Jus’ me an’ somma my friends. On an’ off, here n’ there.”

Aadi nods, laughing. “Yes, there are definitely benefits to that. So how did you end up here? Denerim is a long ways off, isn't it?”

“The Blight.”

“…Ah. That’ll do it.”

“Yeh.”

This is painfully awkward to sit through. I’m glad they’re talking and don’t have an immediate distaste for each other, but part of me just wants to take my plate and sit with Bull, Varric, and Dorian at the other end of the table. I look up from my plate again and happen to lock eyes with Dorian and Varric both wearing shit-eating grins. I sneer at them, and flash a lewd gesture with my hands from below the table.

“Imekari, why are you making that face?”

I blink, and Aadi and Sera are both staring at me, having apparently finished their conversation.

“Uh…nothing.” I poke at my food with the fork. “How’s the fish? Pretty good, right?”

Sera wrinkles her nose. “I don’ like fish.”

“Uh…right.”

She shrugs, and goes to work stuffing her face with food.

\------------------------------------- 

“I could watch this all day,” Varric snickered, taking a bite of a roll. “How many awkward pauses is that Sparkler?”

Dorian took a sip of his wine. “Three, and it’s about to be four if Lady Adaar doesn't say anything.”

“Haha, nice. What about you Tiny? Thoughts?”

Bull didn't look up, and merely growled, muttering something in Qunlat under his breath.

“Ah. Right.”

\-------------------------------------

“So, Arige?” My father and I both look up at the sound of his name. Sera wipes her mouth on her sleeve, grinning. “How’d she used to be? As a littl’un?”

I sigh deeply, closing my eyes. “Sera, no.”

My father laughs, light-heatedly slamming a hand on the table. “NOW we’re talking! Oh Sera, I've got stories, about this one. That whole table over there has stories,” he points to the other Tal-Vashoth who had been eating in silence up until this point. At the mention of my childhood they all share a quiet laugh, and begin speaking among themselves in Qunlat, some common peppered in for words that Qunari don’t have. I don’t know as much Qunlat as I probably could, but from what few words I am able to pick up mixed with the common tongue…it provided enough contexts.

“No, Aadi.”

Sera pats my shoulder and laughs. “Aw, cheer up love, it can’t be all bad, right?”

I raise my head to the ceiling, and calmly fold my arms on the table, giving my father a grim smile. “Aadi, if you love and value me as your daughter, you will say nothing.” My father looks at me carefully, seemingly regarding my words. But then…he just…

“Once, when she was almost two years, I caught her eating the qalaba’s grain.”

Sera, my father, and the entire Tal-Vashoth table behind me erupt in laughter.

“Ugh, Aadi…” Sera is laughing so hard she looks like she might fall out of her chair. “Sera you don’t even know what a qalaba IS.”

Sera calms down a bit, still snickering. My father mouths to her from across the table, “It’s a cow,” and she’s laughing again.

“Aadi. Please stop. Please.”

“Oh imekari relax, it’s not as bad as the time you wanted to help Aban dry the clothes and ended up setting them on fire.”

I begin sinking into my chair, wishing I had paid more attention when Solas was teaching me that Fade Step thing. It feels increasingly warm in here. “Aadi, please, are you done?”

There are a few beats of silence from him, as he looks upon my obvious embarrassed expression while he takes a few bites of his fruit, slowly chewing it, swallowing, then grinning.

“Do you remember the time you bedded that Dalish Keeper’s first when you were sixteen years?”

I stand up, slamming my hands on the table. “I DIDN'T KNOW, AND HE NEVER SAID HE WAS…ugh I am done eating, I’ll be…ugh anywhere else if you need me.” I drop my fork and briskly walk out of the main hall.

 

Sera, barely inhaling enough air to keep laughing and clutching her sides, looks up to see me stalking out of the hall. “Ahahaha…aha…aw, come on love, stayyyyyy!" I keep walking until I'm out of the door, but I can still hear her. "It’s all fun, yeah?”


	6. Terrible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor realizes she might be terrible, but she isn't, not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Day - Birthday

At some point between the laughter and the Inquisitor leaving, Varric had made his way to the other end of the table, sitting down in the Inquisitor’s spot. “Are we telling stories? Because I don’t know if she told you, but I fancy myself a storyteller.”

 

Arige’s face lit up. “Are you Varric Tethras? The writer?”

 

Varric gave a little nod. “The very same.”

 

“An honor ser! Truly! I’ve read some of your works. The Tale of the Champion is a favorite among our group, though I’m partial to the Hard in Hightown series.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it!” Varric folded his arms across the table, leaning in a bit. “So. Me and Lady Inquisitor. We’ve been through literal hell and high water. But I gotta admit, she’s a very…well, we don’t know as much about her as we think, you know? We know about her as a person sure, but she plays pretty close to the vest on her life before the Inquisition. To have you and your boys here at all is surprising, to say the least. That being said, I gotta ask: what other dirt you got on our fair Inquisitor?”

 

Arige chuckled, but then sighed when he noticed the main hall door which was still open a crack from where his daughter stomped out. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Well Varric, I fear if I tell anymore embarrassing stories I’m likely to never hear my daughter’s voice again.”

 

Varric held his hands up briefly. “Fair enough, fair enough. What about a tale of valor instead? Something like…an early indication of her current status? Or did you know from day one she was ‘destined for greatness’?”

 

Arige’s eyes softened as he thought. “Ah, well…hm.” He went quiet, and seemed to be in deep thought before he looked up again.”You know…now that I think about it…maybe? I mean, she was a _busy_ child, that’s for certain. But aside from her magical talents, nothing out of the ordinary. But if there was anything that set her apart from the other Vashoth children, and adults for that matter, it’s that she was never wary of strangers.”

 

Varric and Sera looked at each other, and back to Arige with mild confusion.

 

“I mean, that is to say…she could, and would, talk to anyone. _Anyone_. Human merchants, city guards and templars, children from Dalish clans when they passed through to trade...just, anyone.” Arige shifted in his seat, his eyes settling on his plate as he spoke. “Even after her magic manifested, and we had to explain to her that she needed to be more…discerning with the people she interacted with, that didn’t stop her. She was ever curious, and eager to help if she could.”

 

Arige began to motion his hands as he spoke, becoming more animated as he went along. “For instance, If passing travelers needed food, it was never enough that we trade with them, or just _give_ them some; she wanted to cook them dinner. If a child was hurt while they played, she healed them without a second thought. Or if it was something she couldn’t handle, she _carried_ them to our herbalist. That time she set the laundry on fire? It had been a bracingly cold season. The smaller children were whimpering and shivering, but their blankets and coats were so dirty. It was making them itch, and some of them sick, even. They had to be washed. She helped wash, and then hung them all on the pole, high above the fireplace. She just…wanted to help it dry a little faster. ” He smiled to himself, setting his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry...got a little carried away. Uhm, to give a more solid answer to your question Varric…yes. Looking back, it doesn’t surprise me at all what she accomplished here.” Arige looked up, his eyes shimmering. “She wanted to help.”

 

Varric’s eyebrows rose as he nodded, taking it all in. “That…explains a great deal actually.” Sera’s face was wide with a grin. “Buttercup? What are you…?”

 

She sighed wistfully. “She wanted t’ help. That’sa Agnashe I know.”

 

Varric chuckled. “I keep forgetting that’s her name.”

 

Sera snickered as well, taking a bit of food from Agnashe’s plate. “Heheh, right? I called her ‘Anges’ once  ‘n bed, and she looked fit t’ toss me out.”

 

Varric nearly lost it, “Maker’s…you know it’s going to take all three foot 9 inches of me NOT to call her that, right?”

 

“You’d break by th’end of th’ week.”

 

“Wanna put money on it Buttercup?”

 

“Fine. Sovereign says you slip it ‘fore the fi’teenth of Justinian.”

 

“A gracious _two weeks_?” Varric snapped his fingers. _“C_ _ake._ It’s a bet.” They shook on it, Sera exaggerating her end, making Varric jerk around a little. Varric caught Arige laughing softly to himself out of the corner of his eye. “See, even Ser Adaar knows I have this in the bag.”

“No no, it’s not that.” Varric frowned. “Oh, no offense meant, it’s just, funny that Sera would pick that date.”

 

Sera had now taken Agnashe’s plate and dumped everything onto her own, and was stuffing uneaten bits of tart crust into her mouth. “Why’sat?”

 

“The fifteenth of Justinian is Agnashe’s Name Day.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

“*Sigh* Nice, and quiet.”

 

“Is somsing troubling yjou m’lady?”

 

I open my eyes to see Mother Giselle smiling gently, and return her smile politely. She means well of course, but I can never get used to Orleasian accents. Hers in particular. It’s just so…heavy. Leliana lived in Orlais for the longest time, and hers isn’t nearly as pronounced. I remember the first time we went to Val Royeaux, and everyone was all masked up and just ‘hon hon hon’-ing about their day, and I just figured _‘Oh well, maybe that’s just how the nobles talk.’_ But no. From here to the Emerald Graves to the Dales to the Hissing Wastes, that’s just _how they sound._ I am always secretly concerned there’s something stuck in the back of their throat and they’re just trying to get it out, and that’s why they talk like that.

 

…It occurs to me that’s a terrible thought to have. In fact, that’s probably egregiously insensitive. Well, shit. Now I’m terrible. _Ugh_.  Mother Giselle notices me making faces at my terrible and _probably racist_ thoughts. Oh Maker am I racist? The Inquisitor _can’t_ be racist that goes against everything we stand for. I need to talk to Josie, maybe she can help me sort this out. Shit, Mother Giselle is still standing there isn’t she. At least she’s not talking…wait _SHIT,_ no _stop that_.

 

Mother Giselle’s brow furrows with concern. “Ahre yjou certain? Yjou know, I ahm ahl’ways here to talk wis yjou.”

 

Despite my best efforts, I cringe internally. “Thank you Revered Mother. But I am fine.” Her smile returns and gives a little nod, before tending to the rest of her flock. “Phew…” I run a hand through my hair, wincing as my hands graze the root of my horns. That actually _hurts_ , how did I not notice this before…?

 

“When did you want me to take care of that for you?”

 

I jump slightly to see Aadi standing over me. I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t notice his now obvious shadow blocking out the sun. “Uh. Whenever’s fine I guess.”

 

“Ha ha, all right then.” He stands there for a moment.

 

“…you can sit down, Aadi, you don’t have to wait for me to ask.”

 

“Oh, thanks.” He sits. “I’m never sure what the custom is outside of our little group you know.”

 

“You’re my _Aadi_ , the least you can do is sit next to your only daughter.”

 

“Heh, fair enough.” We sit in silence for a bit, looking around at the garden, enjoying nature’s quiet. “You know the Lavellan boy asked about you recently.”

 

I whip my head around faster than I probably intended as it makes Aadi jump. “He did?” Aadi cocks an eyebrow.  “Ugh, not like _that_ Aadi, I’m just…surprised their clan went anywhere near you after that little incident.”

 

“He was on his own actually.” Aadi pulls his leg up, crossing his legs. “He was on his way to the Conclave. Keeper’s orders apparently. I mentioned that your group was there working security, and he asked how you were.”

 

My face fell. “The Conclave…” I looked down at the mark on my hand. It’s been awhile since anyone has been back there, but it’s hard to forget how that place looks now. The red lyrium is still rooted in places, even though we have Varric working with Leliana to have scouts out there regularly. And the burnt out husks…

“Did you see him there?”

 

My face fell. “I…no.”

 

“Ah. So he didn't make it there after all.”

 

I looked up. “Wait, what?”

 

“Well, when he stopped by our camp we were in Ferelden but near Gwaren, on the edge of the Brecillian Forest; we were  on our way to Denerim.  He said he’d never really been anywhere on his own, and he was having a hard time getting there. When I mentioned that the Conclave was in Haven, on the other arse-end of the country, he looked kind of crestfallen. He knew he wasn't going to make it there in time for the interested parties to have their meet. I told him he should still go, that maybe he could get some information from the locals, enough to tell his clan you know? That seemed to rejuvenate him, and he went off.” Then Aadi got a faraway look. “…The sky opened up a couple of days later. He was at least a week out when we saw him though, and there’s no way he didn't see that. The sky hole was probably the only thing worth telling anyone about, and you didn't even have to be there to see that.”

 

I gave a sigh of relief. “He got lucky then. Most didn't survive the blast.”

 

“You did, we have this to thank for that.” Aadi smiled, patting the mark on my hand. “Ahem, may I?”

 

“Huh? Oh yes.” I gave him my hand. He stroked his thumb across the mark on my palm, turning my hand to look at the back. “Don’t worry if it pops or something, that’s just a thing it does sometimes.”

 

He froze for a moment, and then set my hand gingerly back into my lap. “…Right. Uhm. It doesn't hurt?”

 

“At first. Not anymore.”

 

“Does it cause any discomfort at all?”

 

“It gets tingly sometimes? Like its going numb. But the feeling doesn't last. I've had our archanist look it over…and over. It’s not damaging me, or affecting my overall health in any way, but it’s going to be there for the rest of my life.”

 

“Ah. I see.”

 

“Yep.” More moments of silence, punctuated by the occasional bird, or Chanters. “…Aadi?”

 

“Yes, imekari?”

 

“Does he still…?”

 

“Think of you? Yes. He didn't outright say it, and maybe not even in the romantic way, but he clearly misses you in some kind of way. Though the Keeper’s got him set up with a ‘lovely young lady’ in the clan as he put it. Name’s…Vesityn? Vesperyn…?”

 

“Vespertine.”

 

“I take it you've met?”

 

“Once or twice. She’s dim, but sweet. They’ll be happy. Give him my congratulations, if you see him.”

 

“You may be able to do that in person, once he finds out where you are I know he’ll want to come here.”

I immediately think of Sera, and her feelings on the Dalish. ‘It’s stupid. It’s jus’ fancy dress.’ Even in the Temple of Mythal, with cold, hard, _ancient_ evidence starting her in the face, she refused to budge and had the audacity to call it stupid. Does she think less of me knowing I slept with a Dalish elf? The Keeper’s _first_ no less? Arguably _the most ‘Dalish’ one_? Will she think I have an ‘elf thing’ now? Do I have an elf thing? I mean, they’re all so lithe and graceful, and their pointy ears are so cute and their little elf words sound so pretty and Oh Maker’s Breath is that racist? I think it _is oh Malferath’s treacherous ballsack I’m a terrible, racist Orleasian accent hater with an elf thing._

“Imekari…? Are you all right? You’re sweating.”

 

“Aadi…?”

 

“Yes imekari?”

 

 

 

“…Am I racist?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into the meat of this fic, it's happening I promise


	7. Never Even Been A Blue Calm Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arige talks about Agnashe's mother, and life under the Qun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to go out on Mother's Day, and then it didn't, and then I was working overtime and then I went on vacation out of state for a week. I tried to write on the plane but this lady next to me had smelly breath, and it was too cramped and just ugh, anyway here it is.

“Hey, Sera,” Bull began as he opened Sera’s door without knocking, apparently forgetting that the door is also her target practice.

 

Sera rolled over, her eyes still hazy with sleep. “Y’know Bull, I shoot’it that door.”

 

Bull blinked, and stepped inside to close the door enough to see that is was a pin cushion on the other side. “Oh. Right.” Sera mustered a sleepy glare. Bull looked sheepish, or as sheepish as a man who chose the name “Bull” could look. “And…sorry for waking you.”

 

Sera sighed and rolled back over toward the window. “What’d you want.”

 

“Oh right! You know where the Boss is?”

 

“Who?”

 

“...right, not everyone calls her that. Inquisitor Adaar?”

 

“With her da. He’s doin’ her horns or sum’fin in her room.”

 

Bull sighed, running a hand across his horns and scalp. “Damn…I was kinda hoping to apologize to her for earlier.”

 

Sera shifted a little, enjoying the afternoon sun seeping through the half-open window. “’S not her you need to ‘pologize to, _kalerba_.”

 

Bull stood silent for a moment, then said “…kalerba?”

 

Sera turned her head, looking at him over her shoulder. “Yeah, what Arige called you. Means ‘stupid cow’ or sum’fin, right?”

 

Bull felt every muscle in his body tense with rage. “First of all, it’s _qalaba_ , secondly if you ever call me that again I’ll toss you over the fuckin’ walls of this place.”

 

“Ha!” Sera turned back over. “You’d hafta catch me first, _kalerba._ ”

 

Bull said nothing; instead he slowly raised his foot toward her backside and gave her a swift, short kick, sending Sera’s head and torso through the window.  He then strode out the door and shut it, muffling the sound of Sera’s cursing and panicked, kicking feet. Bull felt himself relax again.

 

“Ahhh…feels good.”

\--------------------------------------

 

“Imekari, you haven’t _touched_ this head since you left home, have you?”

 

I roll my eyes, only because he can’t see, what with me sitting on the floor in front of him. “How many times do I have to mention I was _saving Thed-_ OW!”

 

“Saving Thedas took you one year; you’ve been away from home for four. You can whine all you want, but this wouldn’t hurt as much if you had taken care of it.” He picks up a towel that’s been soaking in a bowl of warm water, and pats down the roots of my horns where he’s pulling the ingrown splints out. I catch a glimpse of the towel as he puts it back, and notice a splotch of red.

 

“Maker’s…am I _bleeding_?”

 

“A little.  I’m almost done with this part though.”

 

I sigh and grit my teeth as he continues to pick away at my scalp with some tweezers. Not like the ones Cassandra uses for her eyebrows mind you, these are…industrial tweezers, if there even is such a thing. It occurs to me that for all of the things Cassandra cares little for in terms of appearances, she has _fantastic_ eyebrows. They’re so sleek…I wonder what all she uses to keep them so perfect? It can’t all be the tweezers, there’s got to be more to it than that. What if she misplaces them, does she have backup tweezers? Did she just ask the smiths to forge a new one? I mean they were right downstairs from where she slept. Well with her being Divine and all she probably will have an infinite amount of tweezers. They’re probably dipped in gold and lined with jewels or something, Maker knows the Chantry likes spending money, and all of Orlais would probably sooner die than have their Divine grace the populace looking bushy.

 

“All right, that part is all done.” Aadi sets the tweezers down in the bowl with the towel to clean off later, and starts sifting through the tool bag. He pulls out a wooden block, that’s been coated with some weird sticky paste, and then rolled in finely ground sand. From what I gather, it’s something that Arige made himself; most carpenters I know put the sand on paper instead. But then I only know one carpenter, and that’s Blackwall, and even _then_ I’m not entirely sure if that’s something he’s always known how to do.

 

Arige begins smoothing down the base of my horns, working his way up to the gilded spots. “Hm. I’ll have to use something else for that I suppose,” he says more to himself than to me.

 

We sit in silence for a while as he works.

 

“…How’s my mother?” I feel Aadi freeze momentarily, before continuing sanding my horns down.

 

“She is…in a transition, right now. But she is well, last she wrote.”

 

I turn around. “Transition?” Aadi sighs, seemingly irritated that I interrupted his work. “Oh! Right, sorry.” I turn back around. “What kind of transition?”

 

“…She finally left.”

 

“…Did she? Where to?”

 

“The last letter she sent was from Rivain, but I don’t know if she’ll stay there. She mentioned that she wants to be a cook, or study baking, so she might make her way to Val Royeaux.

 

“Val Roy-won’t she stick out like a sore thumb there?”

 

Aadi sighs again. “Yes, but it’s not worth trying to explain it to her. She’ll learn _her_ way. She always does.”

 

“Hm. Did she pick a new name?”

 

“Yes. _Asaaranda._ It means ‘storm.’”

 

“Does it fit her?”

 

“…I suppose so. I would’ve called her Asaara, which means ‘wind.’”

 

“Why wind?” Aadi set the sandy block in the bag and pulls out two brushes. One was for my hair; the other was a little duster for my horns. He also pulled out a pair of trimming scissors, which were comically small in his hands. “Oh, don’t cut it; I’m trying to grow it out. I’m going to be going to a bunch of balls and salons with nobles soon, and Josephine wants to be able to do something with it.”

 

Aadi shrugs and puts them back. “To answer your question,” he begins sweeping the dust off my head. “Asaara, because like the wind her mind is constantly changing.”

 

“Changing her mind about...?”

 

Aadi’s voice changed a little, it sounded a bit heavy. “Everything. In her last letter, she said that she wanted to become a rebel, and help fight the Vints, despite having NO combat training whatsoever, since she was under Arigena. But she went to Seheron anyway, realized that she wasn’t cut out for a life of strife I guess, and decided she wanted to go back to being a tailor instead. She went to Rivain looking for work, but no one would take her because they thought she was secretly trying to convert them due to the Qunari presence there.” He swept off my shoulders, and then reached for the wet towel in the bowel, squeezing the water out and wiping my horns down. “But while she was there, she tried some sweets at a bakery that specialized in Orlesian delicacies. So now she wants to bake, and is headed for Orlais.”

 

“...Oh.”

 

Aadi worked in silence for a few moments. When he spoke again, the lilt in his voice had returned. “I apologize imekari, I don’t mean to sound…unhappy for her. I'm glad she finally left. It’s just…frustrating, to see her go about like this. She’s always been this way; always changing her mind.” He stopped, setting his hands on his knees. “That’s…the reason that she’s not with us right now.”

 

I turn around again, my eyes narrowing. “ _What_?”

 

Aadi looks down at me a weary look on his face. “I never told you about that, did I? Our life before this? The night I left?” I shake my head. He motions me to turn back around and resumes work on my head.

 

“Your mother and I were both under the Arigena; I was a carpenter, she was a tailor. I wasn’t particularly skilled at carpentry at the time. The running joke under the Qun is that if you’re male, and not strong enough to fight, or smart enough for the priesthood, they send you to carpentry. Baking and tailoring is for females, and building is for the re-educated, so carpentry is for the ones who aren’t particularly good at anything. They basically throw you in there and say ‘here you go, don’t cut yourself.’”

 

“I spent much of my formative years there, and became better and better at it as time went on. After awhile, they had me working on the larger, more intricate projects; benches for the Triumvirate, the Arishok’s War Table, things like that. Your mother made all of the drapery, banners and runners for these tables, so we collaborated on a lot of these projects. I saw her pretty regularly, and we developed a close friendship.”

 

“Then, the day came for breeding. Under the Qun, we don’t know who we breed with, the Tamassrans decide all that. I never knew my father, or if I have any siblings. Same with your mother. The Tamassrans know, but purely for the sake of keeping records, which is also how they decide who we breed with. So, I got my summons, went to the tent at the specified date and time, I walk in…”

 

I snicker. “And there she is?”

 

Aadi chuckles. “And there she is. Just naked and ready to go. I was shocked. Firstly she was stunning, for which I was  _not_ prepared, and secondly that the Tamassrans would’ve chosen us to breed. The odds were just…I think it was a fluke to be honest.”

 

“So what did you do?”

 

Aadi shrugs, and puts the sweeper away, and begins brushing my hair out. “What we had to. It was fine. Awkward, as we never, _ever_ thought about consummating our relationship. It’s just not how the Qunari love. But it was fine. Afterward, we were lying there, and she asked me if I had ever thought about leaving.”

 

“And what did you say?”

 

“At the time, before she asked, I had never even thought about leaving. I wasn’t unhappy with my life, but I wasn’t particularly fulfilled either.”

 

“So when she asked, you told her…?”

 

“I was honest. I told her basically what I just told you.”

 

“And how did she feel?”

 

Arige stopped brushing. “She said she ‘went through phases.’ Sometimes she would go _months_ without it even crossing her mind, but then there would be three solid weeks where all she thought about, night and day, was leaving it all behind.”

 

“What stopped her?”

 

“Heh, you know, I asked her that as well.”

 

“Aadi.”

 

“Oh right. She said the only thing keeping her in Par Vollen…was me. She said that if she left she wouldn’t want to go alone, and that she would miss seeing me every week. And…”

 

Aadi became quiet, and still. I turn around, and he’s staring out of the open windows, past the balcony, past the mountains. His eyes looks as if they can see even past the Waking Sea, the Free Marches, and Antiva, all the way to Par Vollen from right here, in this chair. As if he can see the tent, the _woman_ , the _very moment_ that changed his life.

 

I touch his knee and give it a gentle shake. “And…?”

 

He slowly looks down at me, and I feel his soft touch on my head. His hand stays there as he speaks.

 

“And I said, ‘Then I’ll go too.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to put the whole story of them leaving here, but I decided to save that for the next chapter. Which will come sooner than this one, hopefully.


	8. I Have Always Been A Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year. I can't tell you all how many times over the year-long gap that I sat down and tried to write the rest of this. I had a feeling that this would happen, which is why I didn't commit to an update schedule. I initially was trying to wait until I played Trespasser, but that never materialized, and I finally just ended up reading about it. Nothing happened in it that conflicts or retconns what I've said in my story, so I haven't had to change anything. Definitions below. Thanks for reading.
> 
> karashok - Infantry private; qunari melee warrior, a foot soldier.  
> Karataam - a platoon.  
> Antaam - Literally "body;" a name for the Qunari army. Also means "cuirass."  
> kadan - friend, literally, "where the heart lies." can also mean "center of the chest."  
> viddithari - a convert of the Qun.

“We had a plan…well more accurately, _she_ had a plan,” he continued to brush my hair, teasing my hair up a bit.

 

“Please don’t do that.”

 

He chuckled, “Hm? Oh, come now, just this once.”

 

“Absolutely not. I’ll sooner join Wardens with a death wish in the Deep Roads than walk out of this room with a puff ball on my head.”

 

“Fine, fine. Anyhow,” he dipped the brush in some scented oil and smoothed my hair back down. “Your mother said that it would be best to leave after you were born. She felt that her traveling with child would’ve hampered our efforts to escape.”

 

“...Wait, escape? When Bull became Tal-Vashoth they just kind of…let him go. I mean, they sent assassins, but Bull said that was more of a formality than anything else.”

 

Aadi stares at me, slowly raising an eyebrow.

 

“What? That’s what he said.”

 

“Mm-hm,” he continued to brush my hair. “Are you certain you don’t want me to cut it? Your ends are atrocious.”

 

“ _Aadi_.”

 

“All right, all right. As far as…leaving the Qun. It is…different for everyone I suppose. If you’re a soldier or Ben-Hassreth like your friend, it’s actually easier to leave. From what the others in our group have told me, you just wait until you’re stationed outside of Par Vollen. Then you just…”

 

“Go ‘missing in action’?”

 

“That would be the smart way to go about it yes. Though from what I’m told it doesn’t always happen that way. Some just leave when no one is looking, and get as far away from the troop they left with as possible. That’s how Mertam did it. Ran so fast that by the time they even realized he was gone he was already on a boat crossing the Waking Sea.”

 

“Heheh, wow. So, what about craftsman and laborers? How do they leave?”

 

Aadi got quiet. “The laborers...usually don’t leave. Most of them have been re-educated; numbed with qamek to the point where laboring is essentially the only thing they know how to do. Craftsmen like your mother and I have it a little trickier.” He stops brushing, and fluffs up my hair a little, before putting the brush away. He then pulls a small mirror out his bag. “There we are. How’s that?”

 

I take the mirror, holding it slightly above my head so I can see my hair. It’s slicked down to one side, with a forelock and some other strands of hair hanging in my face. I scrunch up my nose a little. “It’s fine but…does it have to be in my face? That’ll drive me crazy.”

 

Aadi chuckles softly. “You’ll get used to it. Now _promise_ me you’ll take care of it, hm?” Packing up his bag and rising from the chair, he beckons me to follow. We head downstairs, into the low bustle of the main hall, passing Varric at his writing desk. I wave to him. “Hi, Varric!”

 

He turns around in his chair, giving a small nod. “Lady Inquisitor. Like your hair by the way.”

 

“Ser Tethras,” Aadi slows his stride toward the door, looking back at us. “I have an origin story if you’d like to listen.” Varric’s eyes widen for a few moments before he begins scrambling for his writing utensils.  Aadi chuckles. “Meet us in the Inquisitor’s quarters, we’ll be back in a moment.”

"Yeah, yeah I got it!" Varric is nodding furiously, gathering all the parchment, ink, and quills he can manage. He them scampers his way to my quarters as fast as his short legs can carry him.

 

 

I turn to Aadi, who returns my look with a bemused smirk. “You know, he never runs that fast when he’s out with me.”

* * *

 

When we return to my quarters, Varric is stationed at my desk, impatiently tapping an already-inked quill on blank parchment. As we enter, he regards us with a slight look of irritation. “What kept you?” he asked, more tersely than he intended given the look on his face after the words leave his mouth. "Ahem...I mean..."

 

I chuckle, as it's the first time I've witnessed Varric at a loss for words. “Aadi and I have been sitting for at least two hours. We needed a little stretch.”

 

Varric sighs a little, relieved that I didn’t respond in his kind. “Forgive my curtness Lady Inquisitor, but ah…” he glances toward Aadi. “It isn't often a story is just willingly handed to me.”

 

“Fair enough.” I sit on my bed, pulling my legs in to cross them, making myself comfortable. “You aren’t the only one interested in hearing this. Well, Aadi?”

 

Aadi sits down on the fainting couch near the rail, taking a deep breath, as if he’s trying to draw the memories back to him. He looks at Varric, and then at me, his gaze lingering on my face. “Well, her plan was something like this…”

* * *

 

 

“And you’re sure they want to leave, and that’s when they’re leaving?” Arige was standing above me at my sewing station. This was about the third time he had asked since he got here.

 

I didn’t look up from my sewing. “Yes. I checked.”

 

“ _Checked_? And with  _whom_ did you corroborate this, exactly?” Arige had started pacing pack and forth, gesticulating as he spoke, inadvertently walking all over the table runners he was here to pick up.

 

“Oh for--, Ari will you be still? I worked all night on those.” I pull the runners from under him before his foot has a chance to completely move, causing him to trip over a little. “I checked with a few karashoks. There’s a karataam  of them that are all leaving when the antaam heads for Rivain. A change of the guard there, then onto Seheron, then back here. Business as usual.”

 

Arige turns to glare at me before his eyes widen to saucers. “A WHOLE KARA-?!”

 

“Shhhhhhh!”

 

Arige cringes, looking around to see if anyone heard him. The rest of the stations are empty, most of them gone for meals. I told the other seamstresses not to wait. I was behind, needed to catch up. Told them to split my meal amongst themselves. They had snickered amongst themselves and shrugged, muttering something about “suit yourself,” and left. I had no kadan among my ‘fellow’ seamstresses. I was always “too” something for them. Too quiet, too lackadaisical. Too slow, yet my mind "moves around” too much. A shadow blocks my light, and I look up, taking in Arige’s full height. I am reminded of the other thing I’m too much of, or alternatively, not enough: “too small.”

 

Unlike most, if not all Qunari, I stand at a petite 5’10”. Slightly tall for a female by human standards, but by Qunari standards? I might as well be a dwarf. I’m still convinced the whole reason I was assigned to the Arigena was that because of my proximity to the ground. Closer to the minerals and metals from which we derive our weapons, to the foods that feed us, and the plants from which we spin our cloth. Arige seems to note the discomfort on my face and sits next to me, studying my face.

 

“I-I’m…sorry. It’s just…” he slowly looks toward the door, slightly ajar. I look up from the runner I'm working on, following his gaze.

 

Right there.

Freedom is that close.

From here to the open door.

 

The metaphor is heavy-handed for sure, but the moments become more tangible with each passing day. A feeling I can't quite place flows from the tip of my horns and flows through my bones down to the soles of my bare feet; I take a deep breath and on exhale, the feeling is gone. “I know Ari.”

 

He looks back at me. “…Mm.” I feel his large hand creep beneath the cloth of my tunic, gently caressing the new scar on my stomach, and I feel my breath cut a little at his touch. Looking down, I see his thumb tracing the tar-black line on my lower abdomen. I bring my hand up to gently push it away, but he takes it in his, giving it a light squeeze. I feel his mouth press gingerly against my temple, his baritone resonating just about my ears. “…Does it hurt?”

 

I don’t look up. It’s not that it doesn’t hurt because it does. It hurts a good deal. It hurt when she struggled inside me, against my body, her little prison. I pushed, _I_ _pushed_ , but it wasn’t enough. I _wanted_ to be free of her, desperately enough to the point I begged them cut her out of me. They seemed surprised that I would ask for such a thing. After it was done, and I was lying in the recovery ward, and one of the caretakers asked why I would ask for that, I merely said, "Too small." And after giving me a once over, she shrugged and nodded.

 

That much of the Qun I was comfortable with. I had no familial ties, none of us did. I’ve heard some of the viddathari talk about their lives before the Qun, and they almost always talk about their families. Generally speaking, the humans were the only viddathari that actively missed their families or their old lives. The elves were almost always slaves from Tevinter, and the few dwarves we had were usually recently exiled, searching for any structure that would shield them from "falling into the sky." The humans came mostly from Rivain and Seheron, occasionally Antiva, and on the whole, their connection to their families was the _only_ part of their previous life they missed. The humans were usually dirt poor, working as some menial barrel-scraper to make a pittance, all to keep whatever single-room domicile they shared with their four-plus other blood relatives. Typically go on and on about how “at the end of the day, they were all I had, and what kept me going. I was nothing without them." And it always ended the same way: "Until I found the Qun.” 

 

That sentiment was never something that resonated with me: sharing a small rat-spit apartment with four other people, having to support them all for something as paltry as the womb you came from or the blood you carry? As far as I was concerned, replace "familial bonds" with the damn Qun, and it was practically the same concept, albeit on a much smaller scale. I couldn’t wrap my head around being tethered to someone like that, much less a _group_ of people for that long, and _even less so_ by choice. Who would actively  _choose_ a life like that?

 

I pulled away from Arige slightly, looking into his face for the first time since he walked in here. His eyes were clear…almost sparkling. He let go of my hand, and gently cupped my face. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll make sure she's with us. We're going to face that world...together." I gulped hard, pressing my lips together. That feeling from before rushed through me again.

 

"A-Ari...I..." There was something that I needed to say.

 

_Ari, I'm having second thoughts._

_Ari, I don't want this._

_Ari, I can't be that for you._

_Ari, I can't be that for **her**._

 

But nothing came. And when nothing came, Ari searched my eyes for a minute and pressed his lips to mine, allowing nowhere for my dread to go but inward.

 

_Who would actively choose a life like that?_

 

Arige would. 

 

But I... would not. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I sat down to read this again and see where I'd left off, I had some stuff already written, but it ended in such a way that I had no idea where I was going with it. I re-read the story to see how much characterization I had given Agnashe's mother, and luckily it was scant enough that I could change it a little. I always hated those free-spirit kind of characters that were always written in such an endearing fashion; their choices never ever seemed to have consequences. I wanted to write a character who yearned for freedom, but I also wanted to address and explore what that meant. When you say freedom, what do you mean? What do you hope to gain from this freedom, what does it mean for you? Often, people mistakenly think that freedom has a universal meaning, but in my experience, that's far from the truth. What are you willing to do to achieve *your* freedom. 
> 
> I took some inspiration from the character Edna in The Awakening, as she is a really great example of someone who was aware of her shackles and struggled to find what freedom really meant for her; it took the whole novel for her to find that freedom.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is a bit heavy, less on the funny, as we're getting into that part of the story. I may write a little intermission as some point, so it doesn't get too heavy, we'll see.
> 
> Thanks again for reading.


End file.
